A Pair of Socks
by PotterheadAna02
Summary: Hagrid knits Dumbledore a sock in his memory. HBP compliant, two days after Dumbledore's death.


Disclaimer: All rights belong to JKR. All lefts to me, heh.

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><p><strong>Written for My Boring Life Challenge by alyssialui.<strong>

**Challenge-Write a fic on 'Hagrid knits a pair of socks'.**

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><p>Hagrid was a man on a mission.<p>

It had been exactly two days after Dumbledore's death and the entire Wizarding community was reeling under the shock. Harry, Hermione and Ron had disappeared for a while after that and he missed their company sorely. The school did not seem the same without the genial, sly, twinkling look of the wise old Headmaster and to Hagrid, it seemed as though even the animals and plants were in mourning. The Herbology plants barely even opened up anymore and all his animals simply mewled and whined sadly. Fang lay by the fireplace all day, occasionally sighing heavily and settling into his lap.

All the professors had met last afternoon in his hut, each arriving puffy eyed and red-nosed. Severus Snape was conspicuous in his absence. Everyone simultaneously looked toward the little tree trunk where Dumbledore used to sit whenever they would troop down to Hagrid's hut and silence followed.

"Oh, bless his poor old soul." mumbled Professor Sprout, blowing into her handkerchief.

"Alas, his death was untimely and much tragic. But the crystal ball shows that he died peacefully. He had no unexpected ambushes, yes, he died well." spoke Trelawney.

Nobody replied for a while after that, memories of the man rushing through their minds.

Madam Pince and Pomfrey whispered in sobs, "That man was one of the noblest men I had ever met. He'd always drop by for a cup of tea when the library used to be open for long hours.."

"And each time a student landed up in the Hospital Wing, he'd pop in with a bag of Every Flavour Beans and humour the child, despite my threats to chuck him out..."

Fang whined sadly and everyone sipped their tea in silence. Suddenly, a frail voice spoke up.

"I think Albus would like it if...if we each took a happy memory of ours with him and celebrated it. He wouldn't want us to be sad about him. Albus always did enjoy laughter and merriness." Minerva McGonagall spoke in a trembling voice, tears drying up on her withered old cheeks.

"Aye, he'd sure like that.." Hagrid sneezed and everyone nodded.

They then proceeded to share various anecdotes about the man and by the end of two hours, everyone was laughing, tears streaming down their faces. At a distance, a bell sounded.

"We should get going, Hagrid." proferred Flitwick, "Thank you for this, really. We all needed it."

The professors bid their adieu and he shut the door, sighing to himself as he cleaned up the dishes.

"Oy Fang, indeed, Dumbledore was really the best man of a different breed, wasn't he, eh?" mumbled Hagrid.

After a while, he started speaking again, "Ya know, Fang, maybe I should make somethin' that reminds me of him..A replica of his glasses, eh-" he stopped as he heard a cough.

"Shh, down boy. Hoi, who's there?" he called out, brandishing his umbrella into the air.

_Shuffle._

"Hagrid, it's me." A voice called out and someone emerged from the shadows.

"Arry? Boy, come here!" Hagrid held out his hand and Harry slipped out from under the Invisibility Cloak and sat beside the fire.

Harry simply sat in silence for a while as Hagrid pottered about and finally sat down beside the boy, handing him a cup of soup.

"Where've ya been all this while, Harry? I was worried 'bout you." Hagrid spoke in a grumble.

"Around." Came the slow reply.

Hagrid looked at the boy who sat hunched, blinking into the fire. A surge of affection rose in him. After all, hadn't Dumbledore been the beacon of hope and guidance Harry had had in all his life?

Gently, he nudged Harry, "You know, I haven't heard a funny story about him from _you_, Harry. Humour your big friend, will ya?"

Harry tilted his head toward the man and shrugged as he started narrating the meeting with Dumbledore in front of the Mirror of Erised. Nearing the end, he had begun to laugh and some of his stoniness had disappeared. The two friends laughed at the professor's desire and Harry got up saying, "I should go, Hagrid. Hermione and Ron'll get worried."

Nodding, Hagrid clapped his back and said, "You take care, boy. And keep in touch with me, okay?"

Harry tackled him into a hug and mumbled, "Thanks Hagrid. You truly are great."

Waving goodbye, he draped the Cloak once more and walked out into the woods.

Suddenly, Hagrid was struck with inspiration.

Socks! He could knit a pair of socks in memory of Dumbledore!

Rootling through his stuff, he emerged victorious with three balls of yarn and two knitting needles. Sitting down on the floor, he thought of the professor and pictured a moon-star pattern like his glasses and began.

The needles were like small pins for his large hands, but undaunted, his hands moved on their own accord. Occasionally, he pushed Fang away who tried to lick one ball of yarn.

"Aye, Fang, these aren't for you, boy. These are for Professor Dumbledore. Harry did give me a great idea, didn't he?" he spoke to his dog and talked to him about his various qualities.

The shadows outside turned longer and the lights came on as the moon and stars peeked out from behind the clouds. Hagrid had not moved an inch, his fingers sore with the various pokes he had given himself with the needles. All the while, he'd knitted one huge, gigantic sock with enormous foot space, almost fitting the man himself. Sighing, he got up and kept away the needles and tossed a ball of yarn to Fang as he went out of his hut and made his way to the castle. He got to the gargoyle which silently looked at him and didn't even ask for the password, swinging aside to reveal the staircase. He opened the door to the wizard's office and stepped in, nostalgia and memories of the humourous man rushing through his mind. He gently placed the sock on his table and looked around, muttering, "You be good up there, Professor." Bowing to the empty chair where the man once resided, he walked back to his hut.

The next morning, Minerva McGonagall made her way to Albus Dumbledore's table to pick up some files for the classes when she spotted a misshapen colourful sock on his table. She was amused by the patterns and colours and picked it up, surprised to feel a dampness in it. Smiling, she assumed it must have belonged to Albus and placed it back.

Little did she know that it was a memoir from a grateful, mourning friend of his, wet with the tears that had flown down his cheeks as he gave a last shout out to the wisest man he ever knew.

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><p>Reviews are highly appreciated.<p> 


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